


Horsing Around

by TAFKAB



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aglarond, Angst, Fangorn, Ficlet, M/M, UST, friction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 09:05:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7308643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TAFKAB/pseuds/TAFKAB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arod totally ships it.</p><p>They say every Frodo/Sam writer will eventually write a story with them meeting again in Valinor.  I guess every Legolas/Gimli writer will eventually write a story with them getting off on rubbing against each other on top of the horse.  X-D</p>
            </blockquote>





	Horsing Around

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [a_thousand_sails](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_thousand_sails/pseuds/a_thousand_sails) in the [2000GigolasFics](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2000GigolasFics) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
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> Gimli becoming increasingly frustrated riding behind Legolas' perfect behind. Would like some resolved sexual tension please!
> 
> Bonus points for oblivious!Legolas

Downhill was the worst part of riding horses, Gimli decided. The steeper the slope, the worse the maddening, intimate pressure as gravity took its toll. Arod took slow, measured steps that nevertheless made Gimli sway hard in the saddle, gravity dragging him forward no matter how he resisted, until his whole body pressed against Legolas.

Gimli harrumphed irritably to himself, trying not to yield to the various forces at work on him, but they were inexorable. His groin ground against the elf despite all he could do, and he was forced to cling or be unseated. Though a fall would not likely harm him, he still had his dignity—or at least its illusion. True dignity was spoiled within his heart; he was hard as mithril. For an elf. An _elf_ … _this_ elf! 

Gimli knew his face was red, and he was glad he sat behind Legolas, shielded by his back, so few would easily see his discomfort. He was glad of his beard and of his helm with its cheek-guards. 

He wondered if Legolas could feel the difference between an uninterested dwarf and an amorous one. Perhaps it would be difficult from this angle. As they fell behind the party, leveling out once more, Gimli reached a hasty and stealthy hand behind himself to try and see what his own backside was capable of discerning, but his hauberk was in the way. He couldn’t tell much, if anything. By contrast, the elf was only wearing soft suede and cloth; he could probably feel Gimli’s touch much more clearly. Gimli could only hope that perhaps the hauberk masked him adequately in front.

He didn’t believe it, though. He could feel Legolas perfectly, hot and vital and muscular, a delightful tease of softness in the flesh Gimli couldn’t help pressing against.

“Hold on,” Legolas warned, and they tilted upward, climbing again.

“Choose a level path for once, wizard!” Gimli grumbled, throat thick with embarrassment. He clutched himself closer to Legolas yet again, both of them in some jeopardy of sliding off the horse’s arse—Legolas because of Gimli’s weight attached to him like a limpet, if for no other reason. 

The horse lurched, rocking Gimli, who threw both his arms around Legolas in desperation, cursing aloud. Was Tharkûn choosing this route on purpose to inconvenience him?

“Hold on to the horse with your knees,” Legolas advised, rather pointlessly. Gimli’s legs were far too short for that; his legs all but stuck out at right angles to Arod’s broad back. It made him feel like a hobbit.

“I’ll hold onto you with my knees,” Gimli growled, not quietly enough. Legolas glanced over his shoulder, raising one dark brow with honest surprise. 

“That would be a sight for the ages,” Aragorn chuckled, and Gimli went crimson all over again. 

They rode for hours, up and down through the grassy wolds of Rohan. To Gimli it felt like years; his cock was a burning brand and Legolas’s pert arse added constant fuel to its fire. Between that and the broad, unforgiving expanse of Arod’s back, his balls felt like someone had beaten them with a broad strap.

Legolas alighted easily and helped him down at the end of the day, eyeing Gimli with concern as he struggled to stand and walk, moving more stiffly than ever he had after their days spent running.

“Shall I rub the cramp from your legs for you, my friend?”

“See to your horse!” Gimli snapped, a little more forcefully than necessary. “I need no coddling.” He managed to stagger into their camp and ease himself down by the stone ring Aragorn had begun to build for a fire, then took out his flint and tinder to kindle flame when wood was set before him. He spent most of the evening sitting right there, stubbornly shielding his persistent problem from curious eyes, aware that Gandalf was watching him with entirely too much amusement for Gimli’s satisfaction.

That proved only the first day of Gimli’s torment. Many more were to follow, and though he grew more used to Arod’s strong gait, he suffered frequently nonetheless—all the more because it seemed the world conspired against him. He could not find time alone to tend to matters for himself, not even after dispatching the half the uruks of Helm’s Deep! It seemed he was always attending on Aragorn, or Theoden-King, or the lady Eowyn, or that he was accompanied wherever he went by Legolas himself. 

Gimli growled in frustration, but he endured, too proud to tell Legolas to leave him in privacy, lest the elf figure out the true purpose for which he required solitude.

Only on the Paths of the Dead was he given respite, and that with no comfort or joy. Quarters aboard the ships of Umbar were no better. The ships were cramped and Gimli preferred to leave the dead in possession of the stuffy, cramped spaces below, so he and Legolas tucked themselves to sleep close together by the gunwale. The elf rested peacefully despite the shades of the dead and the creaking of the ropes and sails, though the cries of gulls made his eyes seem sad and faraway.

Together they endured battle and fire, took counsel with the great and embarked on ventures of desperate resolve. Gimli was pleased to have the elf at his side, whether they spent their time quartered together in the white city or riding out on Arod once more to the final battle, prepared to sacrifice all for the sake of the halflings and their errand.

Victory unlooked-for led to many things—a room of Gimli’s own in Minas Tirith not the least, where he could attend to himself at last. He stared down at his own shaft in the cradle of his palm, silent and thoughtful, and watched as his oiled fingers curled about it, his own familiar skill at self-pleasure a welcome relief… but he could not climax as he wished, not until he closed his eyes and summoned his memories of Legolas, not until he dreamed of mounting the elf and riding him hard, that familiar swaying rhythm rocking them together with frantic bliss.

Yet if Legolas guessed Gimli's anguish, or if he shared it, he gave no sign. He seemed as blithe and innocent as the purest virgin maid, laughing and singing as if no thwarted desire had ever touched his heart.

It was enough to sober Gimli as celebration waxed in the white city, and as mirth and merriment surrounded the wedding of King Elessar. But even as he took his part in the ceremony itself, he could not push the elf from his mind, nor deny the response of his body and heart to Legolas, fresh-washed and clad in silver, shining among the other elves like a fillet of mithril among a hoard of tarnished brass. 

If any marked his disquiet, they did not comment upon it, least of all the elf, who knew him best and was most often at hand. Legolas stood tall at Gimli’s side, a constant presence, as much a torment as a comfort. Yet Gimli would not willingly be separated from him.

When the time came to depart the city of the king and return to their kin, they rode together once more. Gimli welcomed the detour to visit Aglarond and Fangorn as they had promised. He took great pleasure in traveling with the elf. Though his joy was the greater in Aglarond, he was pleased with his companion even within the ancient wood of Fangorn, and was forced to hide his feelings behind teasing complaints and feigned grumbling. For sorrow threatened to drown him as they drew nearer the time when they must part, and he knew not whether he might ever see Legolas again thereafter. 

That thought oppressed his heart with grief as the elf turned Arod northward. It seemed reluctance slowed the horse’s steps as well, making him clumsier than was his wont. His iron shoes scraped on the stones, and he lurched as one slid, striking sparks as it scraped, the jolt very nearly flinging both elf and dwarf from his back at once.

Gimli clutched madly at the elf and as he did, his hand settled where it should not. But before he could snatch it away, he perceived something he did not expect. The elf’s shaft was as hard as his own!

Legolas gasped, a word torn from his throat. “Gimli…!” His hand flew there as well by reflex, pressing Gimli’s against him. Gimli could feel the elf’s stiff and eager flesh quite plainly, his own surging in answer as his hand slid along the length in a tentative exploration that drew another low, ardent cry. Yet Legolas did not push him away, that long slim hand covering his in welcome.

“Elf,” Gimli rasped gruffly, need gusting through him like flame. “If this truly be your wish, then let us get off this horse at once, or I will rip the breeches from us both and have you right here upon his back!”

Legolas needed no more urging, but leaped from Arod’s back and held out his arms to Gimli, who launched himself at the elf’s chest just as speedily. They went down in a wild tangle of arms and legs, sprawling amidst the grassy tussocks. Legolas laughed for joy as Gimli made good his word and bared them both for touching. Then his cries turned sweeter as Gimli closed his hand about them both and stroked them together. For a time all was breathless friction and the elf’s hot velvety mouth given to his plundering kisses at last.

Arod stayed nearby as they sorted themselves out, lipping at a patch of sweet clover. The horse appeared to ignore the commotion with calm, polite disinterest. 

After a short rest, Legolas arose and tended the beast, stroking a hand over the soft muzzle. Gimli raised himself on one elbow, watching as Legolas led the horse to a nearby stream to drink, not bothering to clothe himself, his pale buttocks as luscious as sun-kissed peaches upon the bough. Legolas took care to check Arod’s shoe and his fetlock, finding him sound. 

As he lay back, letting the sun and sky dazzle his eyes in the wake of lovemaking, Gimli thought Arod looked self-satisfied, very well-pleased with himself. 

“A generous gift that was indeed, my friend,” the elf crooned quietly to the horse, and withdrew an apple from the saddlebags, offering it in his cupped palm. “If not for you, I might never have known he felt the same desire as I.”

Arod accepted the fruit as his due, crunching eagerly.


End file.
